(Sadly, I don't own Naruto. But I do own the box, because I have a box like it. Weirdly, there's nothing inside it as well. Except for gum. So now it smells quite like juicy fruit.)
he had trouble getting ready when opening a box took more then a minute for Him.
"Sasuke, are you ready?"
"In a minute."
"You know, we're on a tight schedule….Orochimaru-sama said-"
"I said, in a minute."
"….of course."
The footsteps walk away from his door quietly, falling into the empty silence of the equally empty house. No one was no longer inside except for him, and he was sure that the two people who are waiting for him outside are getting surely more and more ticked off at him with every passing second.
Tight schedule my foot, he thinks, narrowing his eyes as he shuts the door sharply, locking it with a swift movement. I'll be ready when I'm goddamn ready.
It wasn't like he had any attachments to the house. When you change location every few months or so, you know, you get used to it, the packing and the unpacking and the moving from place to place constantly so you weren't found out. But he liked to do things in a certain way, and though he'd never admit it to himself or to anyone around him, he was downright selfish sometimes and used the fact that Orochimaru liked him (in his weird Orochimaru-pedophile-manner) to his advantage to stretch out the minutes until he had to leave as long as he could.
He looks around the small room he stands in, his eyes checking over everything to make sure that nothing was being left behind. Like anything was, though. He didn't have much (never had, never will, simple as that) to pack, so it should be easy for him to just dump all of his stuff into a small bag and get going, like there was nothing to it.
Sadly, there was more then nothing to it.
Like in the aforementioned things above, he did things in a certain order when he packed things up. The last thing that he packed was a small box. It was nothing special, just a little, rectangle-shaped, round-topped box. It was made out of a weird kind of leather or something and wood. Little metal circles, rusted over, were nailed into the box, strapping down the thicker, stitched pieces of- yeah, that was leather-ish-like too- to the box. When he runs his fingers over it, he can feel the little bumps in the top and around the front that were invisible otherwise unless you held it up to the light and squinted really hard. It was a pretty cheesy clasp that locked the box, because anyone could really flip it open, which is why he called it cheesy. It was just a little piece of weirdly-shaped metal that swung back and fourth and one part was inserted through a hole on the other side of the box that linked the top to the bottom. The box wasn't necessarily all that well-made, either. The two halves that locked together weren't built straightly, so the little pieces of leather never matched up. The hinges on the back creaked when it was open too, rusted from age, and a piece of wood on the back was pushed up a little bit, not glued or nailed in all the way down (he wasn't sure how it was all fixed together precisely).
Whenever they changed locations, this was the last thing he packed. He also made quite a chore of opening the thing, too. He's not really sure why he takes so much time and opens it last and puts so much tension and annoyance on Kabuto and Orochimaru, who are probably sitting outside right now, Kabuto flipping through a magazine or something and Orochimaru leaning against one of the poles on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest, annoyed for once at his precious-little-perfect-student.
He has a vague suspicion, though, of why he always does this, and he realizes this with a sudden shot of anger through his heart. He remembers painfully the event and his eyes close tightly, his hands clenching into fists, his nails digging deep into his skin.
"Sasuke?"
"Hm?"
"Happy birthday."
"Huh? Nii-san, you didn't have to get me anything!!"
"Of course I did, I'm your older brother and it's your seventh birthday today, it's routine."
"Well, thank you!! Can- can I open it now?"
"Of course."
"Yay!! ….hmm? Nii-san, what's this?"
"A box."
"A box?"
"Mm-hm."
"Umm, nii-san…..a box?"
"You see, Sasuke, there's something special inside."
"Huh? Special?"
"Mm-hm."
"What kind of special?"
"I'm not going to tell you and ruin it all!"
"Nii-saaaaan!!"
"No! Now, look. I put something special in this box, okay?"
"Really?"
"Yes. But you can't open it now."
"What's the point, then?"
"Because there's something inside that you'll need later on."
"Something….that I'll need later on?"
"Mm-hm. Just to remind you of something."
"Remind me….of something?"
"Yup. Don't worry, it gives you something to look forward to. Something that will remind you of everything we ever did together."
"R-Really?"
"Mm-hm!!"
"Thank you, nii-san!!"
"Something that will remind you of everything we did together."
The words ring in his head, but over time and trauma, they have lost their ring and their sparkle that his brother had said them in, with that fake smile plastered over his face that he had so believably taken in. Things always seemed to go that way for him, when he thought about it. Something that will remind him of everything they did together, yeah right. Well, it sure did, it reminded him of every single thing that ever happened in his childhood.
He opens it just before he leaves. Probably because he opened it after his brother had gone completely psycho and committed parricide (he feels quite sophisticated in using the term parricide because it makes him feel more important then he knows he is.), and he was basically the only one left with any actual sanity. His brother wasn't there, and he wanted to know what was inside. He was desperate for some reason to help him understand just why his brother had done that. He wanted to know, and maybe what was inside would help him. Help him later on. Well, dammit, it was later on, and he had needed that help, whatever it was.
His fingers brush over the front of the box, opening his eyes, fingering the clasp on the front. He thinks back to when he first opened the box, years ago, back in his room, back in the old streets of the broken-down clan, back in that stupid village with those stupid people who like to invade his nightmares like it's a common thing to remind someone of their past who doesn't particularly want to be disturbed by it in their current place. It's much like how he opens it now, he realizes. His pale fingertips fumble clumsily over the clasp, pushing it aside slowly, and his hands slide around to the side to lift up the lid of the box. He does this extremely slowly, his eyes wide, their black texture trembling, as if he's discovering the secrets of the world or something.
Something that will remind you of everything we did together….
The lid finally opens, the hinges creaking and the sound echoing through the empty house, his eyes wide and staring as he gazes at what's inside. He gazes at what his brother had planned for him to see all along, he gazes at what he is and won't admit, he gazes at the most truest, honest thing that could ever be given to him that described him.
He can't close his eyes- it feels as if he has no eyelids now, because he had a hand in what was put into this box. Heck he did. Of course he did. His stupid gullible-ness had most certainly contributed to that. He had been stupid enough to believe things, be torn down by then, and reduced to what was inside of the box.
It certainly did remind him of everything they did together, he thinks, studying the box with narrowed, tense eyes. It most certainly did, and everything he had cut him down to be.
He feels the want to cry, but he doesn't know how to cry anymore, and any tears he had have long since left him. Even if he was to cry, they would be horrible, fake tears that even he wouldn't believe. They'd be water dripping down cardboard. They'd sink in and stay there and go nowhere, and his fakeness would stick within him forever until he finally decomposed years and years and years and years and years and years and years later. And then where his grave was- an unmarked grave for a marked man with a forced, self-decided fate with an unmarked soul- someone would plant a garden or something ironically pure, and he'd wind up in some stupid flower or something.
"Sasuke?"
His eyes go wide, his head shooting up, whirling around to face the door.
"What?" he snaps, his eyes instantly narrowing, his fingertips still trembling.
"It's been two hours."
"I'm coming, give me a minute."
"Will this minute be another two hours?"
"No."
"It'd better not be, Orochimaru-sama's getting very annoyed at you."
"I know."
Slowly, he closes the box, puts it with the rest of his things, and leaves the house, walking outside.
There was nothing inside of the box. Absolutely nothing.
But that nothing was still something. Itachi had been true to his word for once- it did remind him of everything they did together.
It reminded him that he has nothing. Absolutely nothing.